Thursday, October 9, 2014


Z:  (He watches her struggle to pull a bed pillow from her shopping bag.  It becomes a fight, her cusses at it, and then it flops out, smacks her in the face... she shakes it into submission, and then smiles, calmly) That is a curious pillow.

A:  It is the boyfriend pillow.  I am sending to my niece in college.  (The pillow was a standard form but for one adaptation, it had a man's arm that could be put around the sleeper as if being hugged)

Z:  I see.  (Looking at her with puzzlement... though admiring the imagination of the pillow's inventor, wondering what a girlfriend pillow might look like)

A:  Glad you saw.  (Bounces up and down on her hindquarters as if at one end of a seesaw, notes he's not getting it, she simply stands and puts the pillow to one side, allowing it to hug her... the hand coping a cheap feel)

(Moving on... the pillow is re-bagged... and placed in the corner... while bending, Ang shows her interestingly appointed butt)

Z:  Those are curious pants you are wearing.  (Using the universal symbolic language of twirling his finger, he asks her to spin... again... faster... faster... faster... and yes, he was sniggering)

A:  (Spins, whipping the donkey tail.  For a moment, it appears she is chasing it like a cat might... yes, it was a donkey tail... heehaw... ye' all!  Held on with one huge pin!)  They are my Birthday Party Pants.  (Grins at her own intelligence for wearing them on a non-birthday)  No party to go to... nothing else clean!

Z:  So let me get this... you are the ass the blindfolded guests are targeting?  (His words sound almost sing-song in his disbelief that even Ang would go this far)

A:  No silly, I am the good example of the result they want.  (Eyes brighten, head tilts in genius mode)

Z:  Curious?

A:  Oscar Wilde once said about curious, "Men marry because they are tired, women because they are curious; both are disappointed.”

Z:  Curious?  (One brow does the wiggle-jiggle)

A:  I'll pin a tale on you:  (She giggles and pretends to pin a tale by leaning forward and nearly touching his head... only she knows the reason for the imagery of it all... blushes hoping he did not think she was calling his face a jackass's ass!)

A young boy and his father were in a store when they walked past a rack of condoms. Being a curious young lad, the boy asked his father, "What are these things Daddy?"

His dad said, "Condoms son."

The boy asked, "Why do they come in packs of 1,3, and 12?"

The dad replied, "The packs with one are for the high school boys, one for Saturday night, the ones with three are for the college boys, one for Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and the ones with twelve in them are for the married men, one for January, one for February, one for March...."

Z:  Curious?

A:  Curious indeed.  Agatha Christie once wrote, "It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them.”

Z:  Are you asking me if I love you?  (The opposite brow does it's upping thing)

A:  No.  But don't pull my tail... I'm not wearing a belt.

Z:  I love that you are weird.

A:  That's perfect for Curious Events Day.




She looked down at the book he had placed on her lap. It was gone. She looked up, he also vanished. “Odd,” she rationalized. “I’m asleep.”  Kathryn read the book of the stable boy, discovered he received his crescent scar when a bucking stallion kicked his face while saving Clare. Kathryn found great fascination in the description of his penis, portrayed as large with a slight tilt to the left. She resisted the overpowering desire to masturbate. Why? The intrigue and mystery out-weighed the need. Of course, being Clare’s first lover, the sensual sex they shared titillated her. She resisted but the power of lust mesmerized her. She pondered over the penis size which created some difficultly accessing Clare’s pussy, but Kathryn felt contrite satisfaction as the two, founded in one purpose, diligently made it happen. She wanted that huge thing in Clare, wanted to finally know how something so awesome felt. Kathryn also recognized the beauty in the loss of Clare’s virginity and Keen’s sensitivity for her sate. Kathryn wanted to be Clare.  She finished, placed the book down, but did not cry. Instead she perused the possibilities Keen offered earlier.


A guide? To where? For what?


A familiar? The word made her feel warm.


A friend? How nice.


A cohort? She did like the naughtiness in him which she witnessed.


A playpal? He touched her and she yearned to know sexual pleasure.


And a soul mate? She then cried.

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